


Scrub A Dub Dub

by BlueButterflyDreamer



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25865590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueButterflyDreamer/pseuds/BlueButterflyDreamer
Summary: Grimshaw wants Arthur to take John and bathe him.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24
Collections: Morston Week 2020





	Scrub A Dub Dub

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Morstonweek2020 challenge Day 6.  
> I know I am early, but when the iron is hot, you strike.

“I think I’ll head down to the river and have me a good and proper wash. Seems like I missed a few days somewhere along the line. Interested in joining me, John?”

Arthur announced this as he stepped away from his shaving mirror at Horseshoe Overlook, looking over to where a very tired and dusty John who, himself, had just sat down on the log nearby.

John jumped to his feet, nearly falling back over the log in the process, where he had planned to, hopefully, enjoy a plate of whatever it was that had been lingering in the stew pot upon his late arrival from Valentine.

The plate of whatever it had been, slipped from his hand and fell with a plop to the ground at his boots. John took no heed of it, his eyes focusing on Arthur intently; his jaw had gone slack, his mouth hanging open and his eyes gone wide.

“Are… are ya pulling my leg, Arthur?” he squeaked. There was an air of hopefulness in his question, almost on the verge of…

Arthur took advantage of this, beared a wicked smile and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Well, if ya want me to,” he paused dramatically, dropping his voice an octave and setting a smoldering look upon John, “I _could_ see about doing that, once ya wash my back for me.”

John’s face was lost in confusion, then slowly, a wide goofy grin crept across his face.

“I’ll get the soap,” he gasped breathlessly, almost falling over his own feet as he rushed past Arthur, who watched in interest, as he snatched at the towel from where it hung outside, disappearing inside to look for a bar of soap.

“What’s with ya, Marston?" he called after him. "I only asked ya to wash my back for me. Ya’d think I asked ya to go steady or something.”

Bill Williamson, who was lumbering by at that point, laughed heartily. “Come on, Morgan. By now _you_ should have figured out how he feels about ya.”

Arthur leveled his gaze on Bill. “Shut it, Williamson.”

At this point, Arthur had no real understanding his invitation to John had been perceived as something _other_ than bathing. 

He _had_ noticed that since landing at Horseshoe Overlook, something had changed in him. He seemed to jump or drop things every time Arthur was near. He would stand staring off into the distance with what could be explained as a pained expression on his face, especially around his eyes.

Arthur took it to be the result of his run-in with the wolves up at Colter and the loss of the horse he had been riding. John prided himself on his care of whatever animal he rode.

He made a mental note to speak to John and find out what it was that was bothering him.

All Arthur knew, for sure at that moment, was that if John didn’t bathe, Miss Grimshaw would be on his ass sooner or later. For some reason, which she had not yet shared with Arthur, John had become _his_ responsibility and, even though he did not mind, he had sorta hoped that he could have had at least some _alone time_ while bathing.

_‘A man has needs that need taking care of now and then, even if it is by himself.’_

John reappeared, holding the towel and soap in one hand, the other nervously shoving his hat back from his forehead. “Ready, Arthur?”

It struck Arthur that he looked like a puppy that just collected the stick his master had thrown for him. All squirming, tail wagging, tongue lolling from his mouth, eyes bright and begging for more attention.

Arthur rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbing at the growth on his chin. There was _definitely_ something more going on than he knew.

“Mister Morgan!” Miss Grimshaw called out.

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a sec," he replied to her over his shoulder as he handed his own towel and a scrub brush over to John. Juggling his own items clumsily, he nearly dropped them.

“Marston! Be more careful.” Arthur snapped, turning to face Miss Grimshaw; this day was already becoming tiresome, and the scowl on her face suggested it was about to get worse. He considered in his mind about making some passing quip about her tone, but thought better about it.

That woman scared him sometimes.

“Mister Morgan, Mister Morgan! You mind that boy down there. He can’t swim and you know that,” she insisted, one hand on her hip.

“Miss Grimshaw, we ain’t swimming, we’re bathing like ya told me ya wanted us to.”

“I know that, but does he? You know he hates taking baths, always has," she answered, waving both hands animatedly. "I swear, he takes to water like a cat does. Just maybe scrub him a few times, but for _goodness_ sake, don’t drown him! Hopefully he’ll be fine. But make sure he _is_ clean before you bring him back.”

She turned on her heel, marching towards Tilly and Karen, who were working on mending some shirts. Stopping in her tracks halfway there, she glanced back.

“I swear that boy must purposefully roll around in who-knows-what before he comes back into camp, just to annoy me,” she quipped.

Arthur shook his head with a laugh. "I dunno, Miss."

She shot him a stony glare and he stopped his laughing at once.

John, being John of course, could not swim. He was terrified of water and if he could avoid it, he would find a way.

Unfortunately, this also happened to include regular bathing. Sure, he would off his clothes and bird bath but real, honest, get-in-the-water-and-bathe? Nope.

Arthur had tried to teach him to swim, once, and just ended up alienating him for a week or so until John's embarrassment had faded. He thought it had been more along the lines of his pride that had to heal.

Hosea had tried, even Dutch, but no such luck was to be found.

John’s sudden eagerness to want to go bathing with Arthur struck him as odd; he could not fathom what had changed. He made a second mental note to get to the bottom of all this.

Shrugging his shoulders, he made to head over to where John was waiting, impatiently by the looks of it, from the way he was fidgeting.

“Well, ain't we going?” he whined as his face flushed.

“Impatient aren’tcha?" Arthur _tsked,_ only serving to cause the red colour to deepen and his eyes to drop.

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, wishing he hadn’t snapped. “Course we’re going, just hold your horses.”

John, apparently encouraged, was already making a bee-line for the trail that lead down to the river.

Arthur sighed, chasing after him. “Slow _down_. What is your problem, Marston?”

“I just want to get there before…" he seemed to fumble. "Before it gets too dark.”

Arthur could hear the lie before he had even finished spouting it, frowning broadly.

“Marston."

John just kept on walking, his stride lengthening as the trail came to an end on the road following alongside the river. Rushing behind a nearby bush, he began to hurriedly remove his hat and jacket, kicking his boots off frantically.

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa!_ Where’s the fire, boy?”

John turned to Arthur, his pants dropping to his feet, mouth partially open. His tongue licked his lips, eyes wide and shining in the last rays of sunshine that peeked over the ridges surrounding the river.

It was in that moment, between one thought and the next, when it struck Arthur: The reason _why_.

“Oh.”

A hundred thoughts ran through his mind as John advanced towards him, pants discarded haphazardly with the rest of his clothing, union suit half-unbuttoned and exposing his chest down to his belly button, one shoulder bare.

Arthur noticed how sculpted his upper chest had become; since recovering from the wolf attack on the mountains near Colter, he'd been working around camp, regaining the muscle he lost, his arms leaner. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when Arthur wondered, ‘ _How would they feel wrapped around my body?_ ’'

He didn't have to wonder for long as John slid his arms around him.

“Here, let me help you with your…”

Arthur jumped back, as if hit by lightning, pushing at John’s chest.

“Just a sec, would'ya?" he exclaimed. "Just give me a... _goddamned_ second!"

The words may have come out too harsh, judging from the unreadable expression on John's face; hanging his head, he made to move away. 

“Marston,” Arthur started softly, “I didn’t understand. I- I didn’t know ya felt that way about me. I... I-”

“Now ya know an'... and ya don’t care," John mumbled dejectedly. "Now ya know and ya want nothing to do with me, right? I am a fool, but I am only a fool for you, Morgan. I have wanted ya for so long, well I’m not entirely sure for how long, but I know I want ya more than anyone I have ever been with. Ya make me feel...” he dragged one toe through the grass, kicking at a loose stone, “ya make me feel like I can do anything, _be_ anything.”

John headed over to the bush where his clothes lay scattered on the ground. His shoulders slumped as he sat down on the river’s bank with a huff, dropping his head into his hands.

Arthur’s sigh was loud, his innards in a turmoil. ‘ _How could I have been the fool?'_

He strode to where John sat by the river and plunked himself down beside him, their shoulders brushing.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching as the flies landed on the surface of the water and were snatched up by fish looking for their evening’s meal, the sun beginning to set and the first stars hanging in the sky over their heads. Arthur laid back in the grass to gaze up at them.

“Ya know, I always wondered how many there were, up there. I wondered if I could count them all," he spoke.

Silence.

“Ya know, Miss Grimshaw told me to take ya down here, to make sure ya bathed. If I don’t, then I don’t rightly know what’ll happen to me," he tried again.

No response this time.

“If she kills me, ya can have my stuff."

John lay back beside him amidst the cool grass, frowning.

“She would more apt to skin ya first, then kill ya," he responded, curtly.

Then, they broke out into laughter.

“Arthur, I- I’m sorry, I just…”

Arthur had rolled over onto his side and brought himself closer to John, holding himself up by his arms to look down into his face.

“Stop ya whining, Marston. It doesn’t make ya attractive, and you're mighty attractive.”

Arthur studied Johns’ face. Scars and all had done nothing to hinder his appeal in any way, and for more, it had improved it.

A smile broke out on John’s face.

“Ya think so?”

Arthur dipped his head down and caught hold of John’s mouth with his own. His tongue pushed through his lips and into his mouth, touching John’s.

“Mmm, ya taste fine too.” A low chuckle slipped from his throat. “If only I had found this out sooner.”

John tugged at Arthur’s suspenders, his breath catching and hitching, increasing in its sound, coming on like a freight train barreling down the tracks.

John snatched at the hem of Arthur’s loosened shirt, pulling and wriggling him out of it, hands going to Arthur’s bare chest to rest there.

“I think we should bathe, then maybe we uh... we can do some more explorin’, if ya don’t mind.”

John pushed at Arthur and was up on his feet, pulling his clothes off faster than Arthur could shoot.

He headed closer to the water and strode in up to his belly button before turning to face Arthur.

Arthur had got a good look at his backside as he entered the water and let out a low wolf whistle.

“Bring the soap, and the scrub brush. I think I need a real good washing,” John tossed back at Arthur, who was only sitting up at that point.

Arthur removed his boots and clothing, slowly, watching John’s face flush red, then break into a huge grin.

“Are ya ready, Marston?” he asked as he stood with his hands on his hips.

Arthur strode into the water in his full nakedness, his head held high, a wicked smile on his lips.

“Come here, boah. I think you need a real damn good scrubbing.”


End file.
